Adventures from Le Grand Siècle: Louis XIV and the Revenge of Fouquet
by leroidesuede
Summary: Louis XIV of France, the Sun King, takes an accidental adventure through time when he hunts down the illusive Goldmember from Austin Powers. Quickly his life takes a shocking turn when his old enemy Nicolas Fouquet returns after years of exile. Barred from Versailles by modern post-revolution France, Louis must rely on his flamboyantly gay brother to help him regain the throne.
1. Chapter 1

One time Louis XIV snuck out of France and went on holiday to Holland. He knew he'd never fit in with his own wardrobe, so he stole Colbert's clothes. Because, to be cool in Holland, you gotta look like a good banker. He had decided to travel to Holland after he met a Dutchman on the internet who he thought sounded like his spirit animal: Goldmember.  
During their last chat, Goldmember told him: "Hey, I have something gold that gets me even more bitches than you! Isn't that weird?"  
Curiosity and jealousy were too strong to be ignored, so now Louis found himself on a boat headed to Amsterdam, where a child next to him kept giving him suspicious looks. Only the child was short enough to catch the occasional glimpse of Louis's bright red stockings secretly hiding beneath his Colbert façade... Slowly sliding over 'til he was sitting right next to him, the child leaned over and whispered, "You aren't Dutch, are you?"  
Louis' face blanched; had he been recognised?! Not daring to face him, he muttered, "What do you mean? Of course I'm Dutch!"  
"No you're not!" remarked the child; "You smell like crêpes!"  
THEN SUDDENLY FROM AROUND THE CORNER, A GIRL WITH GARLIC AROUND HER NECK APPEARED.  
"Did someone say crepe?"  
For a long moment, there was a morbid, very dead silence on board, broken only by her eventual utterance of "Au revoir!"  
There would be no crêpes served in the boat's cafeteria that day. Louis was secretly relieved: he knew he wouldn't have been able to resist a crepe, and his cover would have been blown. When they finally pulled into harbour, he was starving and irritable. 1 plate of food was absurd! Who eats like that?! He hoped his wealthy friend was more reasonable. But how to find him? He couldn't speak Dutch!  
The child who had spoken to him earlier was once again eyeing him, and whispered, " hey, frenchie, you need some help?"  
Louis thought for a moment before grudgingly conceding, "Fine. You win. I need to find someone." His voice dropped lower, "The Goldmember."  
The child snorted.  
"Oh I can help you find *him*. But it's gonna cost you, and I don't come cheap!"  
For once, an annoyed Louis felt right at home in his Colbert disguise. As he reached into his pockets, he was struck with a moment of confusion. He didn't actually understand the value of money. Colbert was always shouting about this and that many livres, but he tended to tune him out. After thrusting a handful of coins into the child's hands, the boys eyes lit up.  
"God, you REALLY want to find this guy!"  
"Look, just take me to him", stated a growingly impatient Louis.  
"I can take you to see Goldmember-"  
Louis broke in with a SHHH!  
"-but first you're going to need a better disguise!"  
Flabbergasted, Louis retorted, "Are you kidding me? This outfit is more Dutch than a still life of chocolate sprinkles!"  
"That's the problem pops!" the boy replied. "You're the least Dutch person ever. Besides, where we're going, you're going to need to look like a *different kind* of Dutchman…" he continued with an intonation to raise curiosity.  
"And just what kind of Dutchman should I look like then?!"  
The boy giggled and then pointed to what can only be described as the spitting image of the modern Amsterdam male gigolo. Louis' jaw literally dropped. He liked showing his legs off, it's true, but the tiny scrap of fabric that he imagined to be some form of legless breeches intimidated him. Not to mention the other strange articles of jewellery and the frighteningly ugly jacket.  
"You must be joking; no one could possibly wear that abomination!"  
The child shrugged.  
"I guess you're not as serious as I thought. It's the only way I can get you in."  
Louis stared at the hideous suit, then muttered with downcast eyes, "alright. Bring in someone to get me changed."  
The boy gave him a funny look. "That's silly! Who has other people dress them?! Only *babies* need that!"  
"HEY. I'M NO BABY!" Louis spat.  
"HA! If you're not a baby then prove it!"  
Louis furiously began fumbling with the buttons of his suit, struggling to fit the tiny black things through the buttonholes. (How does anyone managed this?!) he thought to himself. No wonder there were so many people who helped: they probably each had to train at their craft! With his elbows propped up on his knees, the boy amusedly watched this strange little Frenchman take literally forever to remove his simple black coat. When he finally removed it, the boys eyes widened at the glittering spectacle that lay hidden beneath. Louis eyed him cautiously. Surely now the boy knew his true identity, and would treat him with a bit more respect! Instead, he laughed, "shit, that's a lot of buttons! With how retarded you are, this is gonna take all night!"  
Not since he last fell in the swamp back in Versailles had Louis felt so very irritated. It's little wonder why kings never leave their realm, thought Louis. But then he remembered what was driving him. Some Dutchman claimed to have more gold and bitches than him, and AWWW HEYYYLLL NO, he wasn't going to let that be true. Fumbling at twice the speed, he managed to peel off his golden raiment and squeeze in to some PVC leopard-print shorts that left his cry of "abomination" somewhat of an understatement. Hopping down off the bench, the boy looked Louis up and down (which made him extremely uncomfortable, as he had never been so unsure of his own appearance) and nodded.  
"Okay, you're ready. Follow me."  
Motioning Louis onward, the two made their way down a small corridor unto they happened on a strange metal door, where odd sounds that Louis perceived to be some kind of music permeated through. The boy turned to him and said solemnly, "He's in there. I can't go any farther, this is all you." Out stretching his hand, he added, "Good luck, frenchie. I hope you get whatever you wanted."  
Louis took the outstretched hand as a request for more money, so he threw a few more coins at the boy and notioned him away before turning back to the door. Well, this is it, he thought. He pushed open the door. The music instantly grew louder. It was quite foreign sounding to Louis. Lully had never performed anything quite like this before.

#It's gold, it's gold, it's gold, yeah baby is gooold yeah#

He took a few steps. Suddenly, "FREEZE SHUGA!" And Louis did just that.  
Foxxy Cleopatra towered over Louis, staring him down with her hands on her hips. He was in total shock. The only black people he had ever known were slaves that barely spoke, and now this one addressed him so aggressively! Bearing in mind the strange culture of the Dutch, and not entirely understanding what she had said, he bowed politely and said, "escort me to your master, goldmember, if you please."  
Foxxy's eyes lit up with rage; "MY MASTA?! DAFUQ? Who the hell yo white ass is tryin' to come up in here?! And what kinda white boy think he can pull off a mother fuckin fro?! You ain't no disco queen!"  
Disco. Louis had heard the term before. Goldmember had once mentioned it was like the Dutch equivalent of ballet. Concerned that his dancing skills were being questioned from what little he could understand, he recoiled.  
"Ahem, I'm the greatest dancer to have ever lived", Louis remarked.  
"HONEY, POLL DANCIN' IS THE ONLY DANCE YO TIGHT ASS IS GONNA GET INTO WEARIN THAT," laughed Foxxy. "But since youse are guest, I gotta a little treat fo' you sweetie."  
Foxxy threw open a second door and the music grew even louder. The room before Louis was dark, with coloured lights emanating from a strange silver chandelier. Neon lights spelt "DANCE PARTY".  
"If you can beat our reigning champ in the disco competition, I'll take you to Goldmember."  
The champ, a young Bob Ross, stepped forward. He spoke in a slow, mellow voice, "Well hello there, friend. Let me just welcome you to dance along with me this evening. But bear in mind, disco is creative, a fine art. Ballet...well son, that's like painting by numbers."  
Stripping off his coat, Bob walked out onto the dance floor, and proceeded to execute a series of such sporadic and incomprehensible motion that Louis felt his head spinning. How different it was from his structured, beautiful ballet! But he could show him. Ballet can get just as, how you say, funky as any disco diva routine. Still, something didn't feel right. He just didn't feel empowered to do ballet like he did back in Versailles. What was wrong? Then it struck him. When he was forced to dawn his beastly butt-slutt costume, the boy had made Louis remove his signature four inch heels. No wonder no one respected him! He stared at his feet hopelessly.  
"What's wrong friend, need some shoes?"  
Ross slid a pair of gold platforms towards Louis. Now these were some shoes that put even those at court to shame! Suddenly, Louis felt a second wind in his sails. With his renewed vigour, Louis boldly stepped onto the stage. He allowed himself unbridled freedom to move his hips and head in ways he never had. Chest heaving, he smirked at Bob, who's face had lost some of its colour. "Well? Is it clear who the victor is?"  
Bob stood up, and solemnly walked onto the stage. "My friend, you've done well. But, I don't lose easily. I have another foe you must face."  
Hearing a slow clacking on the floor, Louis' mouth hung a gape as his opponent stood before him. It was a chicken, specifically a chicken of the sort that grows Afro feathers on its head. A techno-style beat quickly started, and the chicken cocked and bobbed his head from side to side. As the beat picked up, his tiny legs pranced. The surrounding crowd erupted with cheers! This chicken put the moves on like no man possibly could. When the song finished, the chicken suddenly became more violent, flapping its wings and clucking loudly at Louis. He recoiled somewhat frightened. This chicken made it clear *HE* was the king.  
Louis was in shock. Never had someone dared to intimidate the king of France before. Certainly not a creature of such size. Picking the chicken up in his arms and grinning smugly, bob said, "Well, I suppose it's time you go back to wherever the hell it is you came from."  
"Not quite, mon ami."  
Louis knew there was no way HE could beat his feathery foe, but he knew someone who could. Holding his arm, he summoned a small black bird. The chicken bob was holding began to cluck amusedly.  
"A crow?! Son, everyone knows crows can't dance."  
Louis grinned knowingly. "You're right, they can't. But this little is no crow."  
As he hopped off his masters arm and made his way to the stage, the crowd fell silent as his feathers spread. It was a bird of paradise. Bob gulped. He was done for.

**Author's note: Honestly, I'm just going to skip the next few lines. There's no person on this planet who could properly capture the stunning performance of a motha freaking bird of paradise in words. NO ONE. So do yourself a favour and go look that shit up on youtube. Seriously. Put the book down. Now. It's worth your time. Trust me. And Dumbledore had a headache... OKAY!? STOP FLAMMING U GUIZ**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Bob Ross silently stepped forward, hand extended. "You've done well. No team has ever defeated us before. You are finally able to enter the final chamber, where the one you seek awaits. Foxxy will escort you."  
Locking Louis' arm in hers, Foxxy grinned. "Well shuga, you ready?"  
Very relieved to finally be finished with the outrageous diversions, Louis confirmed, "Let us go."  
They passed through a corridor. And another, and another. For Louis, tired from dancing, it was all a bit dizzying. Eventually though, they reached a door. A gold door. In fact, the door was so gold that it could effortlessly draw one's gaze and cause a surreal glow to appear around the doorframe, almost like a portal to the heavens. A large G adorned its centre. Without so much as a touch, the door swung open. At the middle of the room was a rotating waterbed draped in tiger fur. The bed was flanked by a handful of hoes in gold bikinis who Louis presumed must be Goldmember's mistresses. Louis would soon discover however, that hoes weren't his only interest. A sudden burst of action saw Goldmember flying in to the room on golden roller skates.  
"Oh yesh, looking very toight this one. Toight like a tiger! Hrrrrr! Foxxy you did not tell me zaht I had a new stripper!"  
Louis felt all the blood rush from his face as he suddenly became very conscious of his lack of clothing. The Dutchman wheeled around him, slowly looking him up and down. Stopping in front of him, his watery blue eyes locked in with Louis' in an eerily intent gaze. What came next was even worse. Rolling up his sleeve, he peeled off a large strip of skin, and attempted to eat it seductively.  
"Vhy haf I never seen you before?"  
Louis tried his very best to maintain a straight face, though he felt like gagging. "Goldmember, we have met. I'm Louis, your Internet pen pal."  
Goldmember's eyes widened. "VAS. I had no idea you vere such a tasty little morsel. Haf you come here to offer yourself to me?"  
Now, Louis was angry. How dare this creep talk to the King of France like a common buttslut! Then he looked down and remembered: he looked like one! Had the child tricked him?!

-  
Meanwhile in some Amsterdam slum, the little "Dutch" boy tore off his disguise. He was in fact... the boy from Les Misérables! Hi-fiving his chum he proclaimed, "Yo gars, I got that sacré aristo-putain good! Hahaha!"  
The boys were used to pranking rich French tourists, but even they did not realise quite who their victim was.  
"You sent an aristo- to Goldmember- WEARING THAT!?" asked one boy.  
"Oh he's in for a real surprise!" chimed in another.  
The boy smirked. "Well, he deserves it, the dumbass. Why the hell would a Dutch kid speak perfect French?"  
The other boy laughed and nodded. "Seriously! Can you believe the idiots who run our country?"  
Suddenly, the boy stared very intently at the coin in his hand.  
"What's wrong mate?" his friend asked.  
Slowly raising his eyes he whispered, "Fuck, Jacques. I think that was...THA WAS THE FUCKING ROI BRO."

-  
Back in Goldmember's lair, Louis had gone from insulted to downright confused. The two had finally overcome the initial friction of their meeting and come down to business over dinner. Louis was first bewildered after he ordered the crêpe and was asked if he'd like his "smoking or non-smoking". Unsure, but willing to try local cuisine, he had opted for smoking. The crêpe now before him had a tobacco pipe sticking out of it. Louis despised tobacco, but Colbert made him keep it around because apparently it made lots of money. Louis thought he'd try and move on to the topic he wished to discuss.  
"I love gold," began Louis.  
"Not ash much ash mee~!" broke in Goldmember; "So tell me mishtah Louis, how much do *you* love gold?"  
Louis took a deep breath, and then, began from the beginning, an epic tale with flashbacks throughout his life, of his one true love: gold.

#And I~~~ I, will always looove~ goo~~ooo~~oold; I'll always love go~~old#

By the end, he was almost a little tearful, remembering some of his favourite ballets he spent with gold at his side. "So how much do you love gold?"  
Goldmember immediately whipped down his golden sweats, revealing, well, you know...  
"SACRÉ PUTAIN DE BORDEL DE MERDE" exclaimed Louis, "WHAT THE FUCK MAN!?"  
Louis leapt up from the table in shock. Goldmember stood proudly, still exposing himself for all to see.  
"You see mista Louis, I haf a more majestic schepta than you!"  
Louis shook his head, horrified. "That's not okay, man. No one could possibly be into that!"  
Goldmember laughed and motioned around him. "I beg to differ! It looks like I haf even more bitches zan you!"  
Now, Louis was furious. "I know for a FACT that not even Madame de Montespan would touch THAT thing," contested Louis, "and if Madame de Maintenon saw that, SHE'D CUT IT OFF!"  
Goldmember let out a shrill Dutch cackle. "Ish dat so, Mishtah Louis? Zen allow me to intodush you to my osher guests..." Goldmember called out in Dutch.  
Shortly after, the floor began to tremor. Whatever was coming, it was BIG.  
The doors flew open, and there she was. Madame de Montespan, who looked to have put on even MORE weight since Louis last saw her, waddled in to the room. Her mode of dress was little better than sweats, and her signature poodles sagged almost as much as her tits.  
"What are you doing here!?" Louis cried.  
"Oh, I left your old ugly ass for Goldmember! Nothing personal, but he's *far* more wealthy and powerful than you, my dear."  
Outraged, Louis grabbed a sword off a display on the wall and pointed it at Goldmember. "This has gone too far Goldmember. You insult the King of France and his subjects!"  
Again, Goldmember laughed. "No mishtah Louis, I am ze TRUE King of France."  
Suddenly, rifle barrels emerged from Montespan's breasts and began firing in Louis's direction. The reign of Louis XIV. It was all but over. Or was it?  
At that very moment, a mass of pink ribbon darted out on to the mezzanine above. "Run in to a spot of trouble, dear brother?" chimed Philippe.  
Before Louis could respond, Philippe swung down to the ground floor using one of his massive hair bows as a rope. Landing on the ground with a loud clack of his heels, he turned to grin at his dumbfounded brother.  
"I like the outfit mon frere, it suits you."  
Normally this would have elicited a sarcastic response, but Louis was too grateful to be snide. Whipping out a triple barrelled gun he aimed at the fatty chan and the pervert. Without hesitation, he fired directly into montespans chest, and her tits exploded in a flurry of confetti. Stumbling backward from the sudden massive loss of weight, she fell to the ground. Goldmember tried his best to appear unfazed, but he was. After all, a fighting faggot is much more difficult to intimidate, and he had heard legends of the King's brother's amazing skills.  
"The game is up, "Goldmember. I know your secret. It's been a long time since we last met."  
Louis was confused. "Brother, you've met this man?!"  
Philippe smiled knowingly. "As have you. This man is an old enemy. Who else has contested your riches?"  
Thinking for a moment, Louis leapt to his feet. "IMPOSSIBURU!"  
Goldmember sighed and said, "So, you've figured me out, mista Louis. Well done."  
Reaching behind his head, he removed his short blonde wig to reveal a matted mane of thick black hair. Goldmember was none other than FOUQUET.  
"I lost everything, EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU, *SIRE(!)*. But I spent my long, cold nights in Pignerol plotting. At my first opportunity, I escaped to Holland, because everyone knows the Dutch WHOOP YO SUNNY LITTLE ASS. I had nothing. But now, I have become more powerful than any King in history."  
"Spare me. I was impressed by what you created at Vaux-le-Vicomte, squirrely, but this is just outrageous. I mean, did you really replace your bibi with GOLD!?"  
"Alchemy at its finest, sire."  
"UCH! Regardless, this is over. Once again, you have fallen short of Bourbon might."  
A few of Philippe's armed buttsluts filed in to the room ready to apprehend Louis's foe.  
Fouquet smiled wryly. "And that is where you are wrong, Your Majesty. I once dazzled you with the arts. Now let me dazzle you with science."  
And without further ado, he was gone. Fouguet had literally vanished in to thin air. The remaining French gasped.  
Deeply troubled, Louis ordered, "Get Huygens immediately. Tell him it is the King's business. We are returning to France."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Bumping down the road towards Versailles in the Range Rover Huygens had gotten from Newton at last year's Super-Scientist Christmas Party, Louis fidgeted nervously in his seat as the (actual) Dutchman across from him attempted to explain the situation. "Your Majesty, what Fouquet has managed to do is incredible! He has somehow created a time vortex that surrounds his person which allows him to both simultaneously suspend and travel through time! This is an amazing breakthrough in scientific discovery! I cannot wait to speak with him!" Louis pursed his lips and snapped, "You make it sound as though he is some sort of hero! He made a complete fool out of me!" Suppressing a smirk at the memory of the less regally-clad monarch, Huygens answered, "Not at all, sire. A hero for science can still be an enemy of the state. He deserves whatever treatment you choose to bestow upon him. Perhaps you can even bottle his talents for your own use?" Louis fell silent as he looked at his own reflection in the car window. While certainly not old, he was not the man he was in his youth. By reversing his own time while allowing his surroundings to progress normally, it was foreseeable rule his kingdom forever! If there was a kingdom to rule, that is. For when they pulled into the drive, the place he had known as his darling Versailles was practically unrecognisable.  
Louis's face lit up. "I'm already beginning to like some of the changes around here!" chimed Louis, nodding approvingly.  
The statue towering over Huygens's Range was a glorious depiction of Louis XIV at the height of his reign riding a suspiciously small horse across the Place d'Arms. Behind it was a vast car park filled with large coaches from across Europe.  
"Nobility from all-over have come to pay homage to my magnificence!" boasted Louis.  
Huygens groaned. "I don't think you quite understand the gravity of the situation, Your Majesty."  
"Nonsense Huygens! Allow me to see my people!"  
"As you wish, Majesty."  
Louis put on his tallest heels and approached the courtyard. It was strange, the queue of people outside his château. Things were never so orderly at Versailles before! Suddenly, a group of strange women ran towards him. With their flat faces and wide eyes, they were like nothing he had seen before. Certainly they had come from the edge of the world.  
"Oooooooo kawaii~~~~~", they screamed. Louis did not understand their most inappropriate behaviour, so he pushed them aside and continued forward.  
People in the oddest clothing he had ever seen kept gaping at him, as though he was the strange one! When he attempted to walk to towards the palace gates, he was directed by an angry tan man to get at the end of the massive queue. Imagine he, the glorious king on the (not-at-all small) horse in front of his palace forced to stand with the people presumably there to see him! Unaccustomed to the highly uneven cobblestones, he wobbled over to where he was told, grasping an irritable Huygens for support. There were large groups of the strange women who he had seen earlier who kept holding up small boxes and shining lights at him, then giggling as they showed them to one another. "Huygens, I don't understand! What's happening? Why am I queuing to enter my own home?" The Dutchman solemly shook his head, and pointed to the front, where two young people dressed more nicely than the rest appeared to be arguing with some sort of guard. Louis' eyes widened as he caught the bits of their conversation that was in French. Turning slowly to his companion, he whispered, "Am I hearing this correctly?! They cannot come to visit me BECAUSE they are dressed less offensively?"  
Huygens nodded. "I believe so, yes. As I said, sire, things are not as they may have first appeared. This is Fouquet's doing, after all. It would stand to reason that he would reverse your cardinal rule, out of spite."  
At that moment, a group of children passed out of the north ministers' wing and screamed at Louis and Huygens.  
"Très jolie!" "Marie-Antoinette!" "C'est la Reine!"  
Louis recoiled and grimaced. "La Reine?! LA REINE!? And who in the hell is this creepy 'Antoinette Husband'?"  
"Not even I fully understand yet, Majesty, but from our research, in this world you married this Marie-Antoinette who then leaves you for a shorter man named Napoleon."  
Steam began to rise from Louis's head, though it cannot be certain whether it came from anger or evaporating sweat from under his enormous wig facing bombardment from the sweltering French sun. Eventually, Louis reached the front of the queue and began to make his way gracefully in to the château at last.  
"Monsieur. Arrêt! Ce n'est pas possible! C'est costume incorrecte!"  
"QUOI!? JE SUIS L'ETAT. VOTRE ROY. STEP ASIDE."  
Citoyenne Marianne looked annoyed and pulled Louis aside. "Please don't make a scene, monsieur. You are not dressed appropriately for Versailles. You must leave now."  
"I think you are mistaken. As you can see I am wearing a coat, *and* I have brought my sword. Now let me pass."  
As Louis flashed is hilt, Citoyenne Marianne's eyes widened with shock. She reached for her radio. "Citoyen Jacques! We have a code 1792!"  
Immediately a team of gendarmes filed out of a Securité de la Domaine du Château Versailles car and chased after Louis. Louis grabbed Huygens's hand and ran, nearly tripping in his heels.  
"To Saint-Cloud!" he screamed.  
As they ran down the main road, they came upon a strange vehicle with the words "SAINT CLOUD". Without hesitation, he and Huygens jumped in, and Louis' eyes squinted as he was overwhelmed by a bunch of tan, buff, scantily clad men, all wearing different coloured sparkly speedos. After staring at Louis and Huyg ens in silence, one of the men came over and wrapped his arm around Louis.  
"Well, aren't you just a precious couple? First time to Saint Cloud?" Pushing his arm away, Louis snarled, "We AREN'T a couple. I'm just going to see my brother."  
The other man laughed, "Oh, there's no need to be ashamed where we're going. Everyone knows Saint Cloud is the biggest gay resort in Europe! But, you cuties are going to want to change if you're going to take advantage of those fab fountain pools!" Louis rolled his eyes. Even in this world, at least Philippe hadn't changed much.  
The coach sped off as the onboard music resumed.

#Young-man, there's a place you can go!#

It was crowded, but Louis and Huygens managed to find seats. Not long after, the steward approached Louis and handed him a flamboyantly pink cocktail with a feather for garnish.  
"Compliments of the gentleman there."  
A bleach blond macho man a few rows ahead turned around and winked seductively at Louis. Disgusted, Louis poked at the cocktail now sitting before him before sliding it towards Huygens.  
"Uch, want this?"  
But Huygens was already distracted by the faggots in the row behind offering him penis-shaped cheese puffs.  
As they approached the château, a video began to play overhead. Philippe came on camera and welcomed everyone in an extremely gay voice caused everyone on the coach to swoon.  
"Bonjour mes petits-dejeuners, et bienvenue à Saint-Cloud!"  
There was then an announcement that Samwell would be performing that evening and that stable boys would be available around the clock.  
"I think I just vommed a little in my mouth," said Louis to Huygens.  
As they stepped off the coach, Louis felt his jaw drop in spite of all the unexpected recent occurrences. The little hedge trees that once surrounded his brother's home had been replaced with massive palm trees, and the entire building was painted bright pink, like some sort of baroque barbie mansion. The fountains were chlorinated bright blue, and more slag fags were scattered amongst them, tossing dick-shaped inflatables at each other.  
"MON DIEU! Mon frere, is that you? How nice of you to come to my little play house!"  
Barely wanting to look in the direction of the exaggerated, simpering voice, he saw his brother standing there, looking down his nose over massive heart-shaped sunglasses. His neon, sequinned suit was blinding in the summer sun, like the many rings on his pink-painted nails that clutched an equally absurdly dressed white poodle.  
"Philippe, we need to talk. This is serious." The words were almost impossible to say when he looked at this new incarnation of his brother, who rendered the Philippe he knew positively sober.  
Philippe leaned in close. "Shhhh! I'm undercover!"  
"Rather flamboyantly," sneered Louis softly.  
"Like what I've done with the place?" Philippe continued ignoring Louis.  
"This is certainly only something *you* could think of."  
"Actually, it was Colbert's idea!"  
"WHAT!?"  
"Yeah! Colbert has secretly been gay this whole time!"  
Louis was bemused.  
"HAHA, JOKING! Everyone knows Colbert's only sexual interest is your face cast in gold."  
"Charming." said Louis sarcastically. "  
"Colbert thought this would be a good way to make money while we're stuck in this queer reality."  
"Whatever. You better not have taken any of your Buttslut Youth out of my kitchen!"  
"Don't worry mon frere, my *appetite* is just as strong as yours." assured Philippe slyly.  
"You had better be referring to food," quipped Louis; "So explain to me again: *why* are you 'undercover'?"  
"Well, if you haven't figured it out by now, Fouquet is TOTALLY gay. Rumour has it that his little morsel-of-a-catbum boyfriend is coming here tonight to my little arc-en-ciel sur la terre to see Samwell perform. I plan to seduce him and force him to-*giggle*-reveal all."  
"All I need to know is where Fouquet is!" claimed Louis confidently; "When I find him I'm gonna pound his ass!"  
Philippe giggled again. "Ooh I'm sure he'd like that."  
Louis resisted his temptation to punch his snarky brother in the face, since he was yet again begrudgingly in his debt. Philippe took his brothers hand and led him upstairs, grinning as he saw his brother attempting to hide his flushed, shamed face from all the wolf whistles and vulgar calls as they passed. Once they were alone, Philippe proceeded to rummage through indistinguishable piles of silk and lace, finally flinging a mass at Louis.  
"Change."  
Louis scowled, and threw them on the ground. "Oh, no. I'm not getting stuck wearing some humiliating butt slut suit again. You can forget it! I am the ROI, despite how little that seems to be worth anymore."  
He felt a dark cloud pass over his face. It had been so long since he had felt like himself or lived his own life, and the fact struck him with a heavy sense of sadness. Philippe's eyes widened; he had never seen his brother so vulnerable before. Sighing, he walked over and gently handed him the suit.  
"Louis…I'm sorry about what's happened to you, really. But you have to do this; if you can, this will all be over. But Fouquet has to be defeated."  
Slipping the pink silk blouse over his head, Louis looked sternly ahead. "Alright. You seduce the butt-slut. I'll be in the back, waiting for Fouquet to come find him. Even he would never expect me to play the footman."  
Louis donned his latest ill-suited disguise and took to the servants' corridors in search of a salon in which to linger. Usually Louis only used the servants' passages when sneaking off for a little snack, be it in the kitchen or in his mistress's chambers. But now he felt strange passing through them in this manner. Busy workers brushed by him running in all directions as the festivities grew in to the night. He felt so small, so insignificant. He came to a busy salon and entered. Then it occurred to him. What on earth was he to do as a footman? Refill wine glasses? Stand by the door as decoration?  
"I certainly wouldn't mind playing one of those cheeky footmen who try and steal a biscuit.. I'm famished!" Louis thought.  
Several days without a grand couvert was beginning to reduce his strength. And it was at that moment his lack of blood sugars led him to believe he was hallucinating. In the salon was a man who must have weighed 35 stone. He spoke French with a terrible Scottish accent. But neither of those facts were what shocked Louis. It was his blue fleur-de-lys coronation robes and enormous peaked perruque. Why on God's Earth had Philippe hired HIM as his body double?  
"DYA THINK IM SHEXY?" Fat Bastard barked at one patron before letting out a prolonged flatulence. "OH YEAH ITS GOOD TO BE THE KING"  
Louis flinched as he felt himself vomit a little bit in his mouth. Could his brother possibly be this cruel?! Furthermore, how could anyone believe this disgusting creature was him? But, as Louis watched, it appeared that people DID believe. They bowed and showed him all the courtesy that had once been his alone. He gritted his teeth and set in to do his job. This crap couldn't continue any longer!  
"HEY YA WEE BUTT SLUT. GET ME A DRINK."  
Slowly turning a round, he came face to face with his greasy, revolting double. Fighting every urge to spit in his fat face, Louis forced a demure smile, "But of course...votre majestie."  
Fat Bastard chortled, "EXCELLENT. Bring it up to the third floor: I need a little refreshment before my grand couvert."  
As he waddled away, Louis darted back into the walls, into the servants passage. As he snuck along, he suddenly caught the muffled sound of his brother's high pitched giggle.  
"Oh, you ARE a charmer, aren't you? Much too good for that rotten squirrel. I don't think he really...appreciates you..."  
Louis slid into the room, unnoticed, but could scarcely hold back a gasp when he saw who was curled up against his brother. Batting his eyelashes, the man seductively pushed his thick auburn hair out of his face.  
"Well, no one could give me what you can, darling!"  
As he leaned in to take a grape from Philippe's hand, the couple froze as a voice shrieked, "CHRISTIAAN, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"  
Philippe gave Louis a death stare, reminding him to keep in character.  
"Do forgive my footman, he's a little on edge today with the number of positively gorgeous boys swooning before him."  
Philippe's companion giggled. "You clearly have me mistaken me, my sweet lad, for I am Christiaan's slender and tender, bender of a twin, Inge!" *giggle*  
"I didn't know Huygens had a twin," thought Louis; "And is he really Fouquet's buttslut? AND WHATS WITH ALL THE GAY DUTCH PEOPLE!?"  
Philippe understood Louis's continued confusion.  
"Do excuse me for a moment ma cherie, but I simply must check on the ice penis to make sure it isn't..dripping! *giggle*"  
Philippe headed down the corridor and Louis followed.  
After ducking in to a small room Louis cried "YOU HAVE A LOT OF EXPLAINING TO DO BROTHER."  
Philippe sighed, "Oh you must understand I've had such a crush on Huygens and his curling damask locks..*squee* When I found out about his brother, I just knew this was meant to be!"  
"Yes yes, but what about MY DOUBLE!?"  
"Oh.." Philippe exhaled as he put his head down; "You mean Bonnie Prince Fat Bastard, his cousin from Écosse. Inge promised to take care of him on his grandmother's deathbed. He's been depressed since he hasn't been able to follow his idol Henry VIII of England to a place on the throne, so Inge said he would only participate if his cousin could be your double. It has really made is week you know."

Louis was furious: "Made…made his week?! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S MADE HIS LIFE. Can you imagine how humiliating it is to have some greasy fat fuck galavanting around as you?! Furthermore, whatever happened to 'bros before hoes'?! To think you'd shame me like this over a piece of Dutch ass!"  
Philippe's eyes widened in surprise. Usually his brother had such an even temper, but now, seeing him here, fists clenched and shaking, he wasn't sure how to respond. "Louis...look. It's all part of this ruse, you see? If fat bastard is playing you, no one will wonder why you've disappeared. Since you were gone for a while, they probably just think you had a few extra grand couverts. And about Inge...let's be honest here. Like you would have any reservations about embarrassing or mocking me for one of your titty bitches."  
Louis looked away to hid the flushed irritation in his face. He knew his brother had a point, but it still stung to think that his people believed his self control was so little that he would allow himself to morph into that gelatinous monster. Maybe, when everything returned to normal, he might try a petit couvert every once and a while. Just as he turned back to respond to his brother, Philippe covered his mouth with his hand. The clack of angry heels on marble echoed louder and louder as they drew closer, and Louis' fists clenched once more as he heard Fouquet's voice, "Inge, Inge where are you my little chocolate sprinkle?"  
"MERDE!" Louis and Philippe shouted together in a way only brothers can. "He's already here!"  
They hurried back to their positions just in time for Fouquet to come around the corner. An outraged look came across face as his eyes discovered his beloved in the arms of his enemy's brother.  
"Inge, HOW COULD YOU!?"  
"I'm so sorry my baby squirrel, forgive me, but Philippe and I were truly meant to be together."  
An evil smirk came across Fouquet's face. "You're absolutely right my dear." he said, cackling; "I never loved you. Ever. I was using you to get to Philippe THIS WHOLE TIME!"  
"WHAT!?" cried Inge, tearing up.  
"NO ONE SPEAKS TO MY INGE LIKE THAT." bellowed Philippe in a voice deeper than many had heard him emit before.  
"Go on then. Let's duel. Allow me to capture you, bait your brother, and claim my rightful revenge on la Royaume de France!"  
"Don't underestimate me again, Fouquet."  
But Fouquet had a few new tricks in store. Philippe ran at him expecting as always to dazzle him with the reflections from his unworldly amounts of bling and take the upper hand, but a pair of sunglasses automatically dropped out of his wig and on to his face. Lunging forward, he plunged his sword in to Philippe driving him back until the sword became lodged in the wall.  
"NOOO" cried Inge.  
But Philippe was saved, if only by the fact that his enormous poof and slender frame led Fouquet to miss his person. Nonetheless, he left Philippe pinned to the wall, unable to move.  
"The kingdom of the sun has no power over me now!"  
But this was Louis's opportunity. The timid footman revealed his true identity. Drawing his own sword, he put his tip an inch from Fouquet's face.  
"Au contraire Monsieur Fouquet."  
He slowly walked forward; Fouquet slowly backed. There was hatred glaring between the two opponents. The room was dead silent. Fouquet's back touched the wall. He could retreat no further.  
"Checkmate."  
The room burst in to applause. Louis felt elated, his kingliness restored! It was all over. He had won. Suddenly, the door to his left burst open with tremendous force, and Louis went flying across the room.

#DYNOMITE, DYNOMITE!#

A tall black man strode in to the salon.  
"NO NEED TO FEAR, BLACK DYNAMITE IS HERE. Now which one-a you peckawoods is FO-QWAY?"  
"YOU DIPSHIT! HIS MAJESTY HAD HIM CORNERED!" people in the room protested.  
Fouquet sprung back in to the fight and wrapped a dagger around Black Dynamite's neck.  
"Shiiiit."  
"NOBODY MOVE" ordered Fouquet.  
Having taken Black Dynamote hostage, Fouquet slowly backed towards the exit to escape, keeping a close eye on Louis. The salon fell silent again. The feeling was morbid at best. But then a massive fart broke the silence.  
"OHHHH THAT ONE FELT A WEE BIT WET!"  
Everyone, Fouquet included, grimaced. Fat Bastard was having his grand couvert on the floor above. Another massive round of flatulence shook the building, and the ceiling began to creak, and then crack. Fouquet looked up in horror. Fat Bastard burst through. The massive "fat fuck" crushed Fouquet before smashing through the floor below.

The men stood silent, looking at Fouquet's limp hand protruding out of fat bastards enormous ass, who continued to eat, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he had just crashed through the floor. Slowly, his beady, watery eyes locked onto Louis, and his face flushed as he summoned all of his strength to push himself onto his feet, his huge ankles quivering in heels that strained under the vast weight.  
Hand shaking, fat bastard pointed at Louis, and bellowed, " YOU! YOU'RE THE WEE BUTT-SLUT WHO DIDN'T BRING ME MY DRINK!"  
"I don't recall ever having been asked, sir" peeped Inge, who had been cowering behind Louis.  
"He's talking about ME, you idiot!" Inge's cheeks blushed, and he grabbed onto Louis' sleeve.  
"I thought Philippe said you were one of those dirty breeders! Thank god, because I've been wanting to ask if you would be interested in a how do you say en francais, ménage a trois?"  
Philippe couldn't help but snicker when his brother shot daggers into the little Dutchman, who silently slunk back behind him.  
"GET OUTTA HERE, YE FUDGEPACKERS. I want to talk with this frilly dwarf, ALONE."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Understandably shaken by the rapidly unfolding drama, the patronage of Saint-Cloud filed out of the room, congregating in adjacent rooms to discuss what their eyes had had trouble processing. Louis remained behind, anger once again rising as he was now left alone in a room with three people he despised now more than ever: Black Dynamite, the tardy hero who ruined the evening; Fouquet, who seemed always to slip his grasp; and Fat Bastard, the lump who desecrated his dear image.  
"SAY MAH WEE LAD, HOWDUH YE THINK AM DOIN'? YE KEN UR A TRUE LAD LETTIN ME BE KING LIKE THATN ALL. A-WIZ JUST A WEE BEHBY WHEN THEY TAKE ME THRONE."  
"HOW COULD YOU EVER RULE A COUNTRY LIKE THAT!? AND YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME!?"  
"AH TAKE MAH WEIGHT SERIOUSLY YE KNOW," Fat Bastard rebutted sadly; "DO YE-NO WHATIZ LIKE TO BE AN OVERWEIGHT BEHBY, ALL ALONE IN TEH WORLD?"  
Louis found it difficult to muster any sympathy.

Fat Bastard's facial expression then changed from one of depression to constipation. "WHERE'S UR SHITTER?! I've got a turtle head poking out!" An audible squeal came from Fouquet, still trapped under the grossly obese impostor king. Louis' mouth spread into a perfectly straight line as he came to the realisation that the disgusting land whale couldn't even do him the small service of using his massive weight to crush his enemy. Fat bastard grunted, and his face contorted as he wrenched a wrinkled and twitching Fouquet from his ass crack. Grinning, he presented his prize to Louis, exclaiming, "Wuld ye look a' tha?! Biggest shit I ever took, an' I made some doozies in ma time!"  
Fouquet shook himself out of his grip, and landed on the floor with a thud.  
"YOU FAT FUCK. I AM NOT A GODDAMN SHIT."  
Louis snickered, "I beg to differ. I believe that's the wisest thing he has ever said." Retrieving his sabre from the floor, he pointed it at Fouquet's neck. "Now, where were we?"  
Fouquet smirked, then stepped back and whispered into fat bastards ear, whose face reddened with rage.  
"WHAT D'YE MEAN YE WANT T'TAKE MA THRONE?!"  
He lunged at Louis grabbing him by the collar and lifting him into the air.

"AHYA CANNIE WEE CUNT! YE THENK BECAUSE AM FAT YE CAN TAKE ME THRONE!?"

In the entirety of this horrific week, this set an all new low for Louis. Out of the frying pan and in to the fire. Only he had fled the fire to end up back in the frying pan with a strip of lard. Putain!  
"You diabolical dick sniffin' motherfuckers!" Black Dynamite had awoken. "Hold the phone ma mackdaddy brutha! Black Dynamite's here n them honkeys gonna be runnin' for cova!"  
"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE GO HOME BLACK DYNAMITE. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT."  
"Now lets not dwell on the past now, that nigga may be bigger than you and he may be bigger than me, but he ain't bigger than you AND me; can you dig it? Dynamite's gonna make it all right!"  
Fat Bastard turned around surprised. "WEH YE LOOK AT THAT! I SHAT TWO OF THEM! I DUNT REMEMBER EATING THAT."  
"SHUT THE FUCK UP when grown folks is talkin!" barked Dynamite.  
He drew his revolver and popped a few caps in Fat Bastard's jiggly ass. Louis sunk his face in to his palm. It was grossly ineffective.  
"DAMN, YOU IS ONE FAT BASTARD."  
Fat Bastard was furious. He let out a war cry and charged towards Black Dynamite. It was unclear what Black Dynamite's last words were, as we was crushed by the unstoppable force that was a Fat Bastard body slam. The two smashed through several more floors until they disappeared from sight. Now, only Louis and Fouquet remained.

"Well, your...majesty, I'll give you the satisfaction of hearing that title one more time, it seems that our little game has run it's course. Fat bastard has already destroyed your image, and I've succeeded in taking away everything you ever worked for, and everyone who ever loved you."  
Pausing for a moment to allow his heavy words to set in, and feeling his chest swell as he saw Louis' face drop, Fouquet crossed the floor and put his hand on the dejected kings shoulder.  
"Forgive me, I've misspoken. No one has ever loved YOU."  
Just as he pulled his sword from it's sheath, a loud crashing sound came from behind accompanied by a high, angry voice that shouted, "That's not true!"  
Philippe had returned, his black eyes glittering with hatred terrorising his brother.  
"Louis and I may have had our differences, and I may have pissed on his bed a few times, but he is my brother and I care about him deeply."  
Philippe's confession made Louis' eyes widen in shock and admiration for his brother.  
Just as he was about to respond, Inge ran in behind Philippe and shouted, "Me, too! I'm going to finish you, Fouquet! For betraying me! And..." He gave Louis a coy smile, "to win over my boyfriend's cutie brother for a little threesome."  
Philippe grimaced. His touching moment with his brother was ruined and he watched Louis' face return to its usual scowl.

"Alright Fouquet. This has gone on for long enough. Once again, you are surrounded and–"  
Louis was suddenly interrupted by a completely random and unexplainable beginning of chatter in the dining hall above.

"Mahlzeit."  
"Mahlzeit!"  
"Mahlzeit."  
"Mahlzeit."

And the exchanges of the German greeting continued.  
Philippe noticed Louis's frustration at being interrupted. "Heh, uh, that would be the Schwule Pride banquet…"  
"Really, brother? You invited GERMANS?"  
Philippe winced and replied, "Sorry mon frère, that was my wife's doing…"  
"Urgh! Anyway, where was I? YES. Fouquet! You have wronged le Royaume de France for the final time."  
Fouquet laughed menacingly.  
"You forget Louis. You may have me cornered, but this is still *MY* kingdom."  
He pulled from his pocket a small brass instrument alive with flexing springs and spinning gears.  
"You see, this is Hooke's Snuff Box. With one turn of a key, I can affect your time and reality." He added with great emphasis, "I abolished your kingdom with my little finger. I will forever be greater than YOU."  
Fouquet then hesitated for a moment, and continued, "But now I'm done toying with you Louis. It's time for you to witness the rise of my great empire- from a cell in the Bastille, along with Colbert, your brother and anyone else who stands in my way!"  
Fouquet's voice was beginning to pickup an eery echo as a cold gust swept in to the room and darkness slowly began to fall. Fouquet held the snuff box above his head. A frightened Inge grasped Philippe's arm.  
"MAKE WAY FOR THE KING!" bellowed Fouquet, now referring to himself.  
At that moment, Händel's Alla Hornpipe began. It was almost as if on queue, and Louis assumed the unfamiliar music was a part of Fouquet's megalomaniac act. Fouquet, though initially surprised, revelled in the score, and began laughing triumphantly.  
"You see Louis, it is even God's wi–"  
But as Fouquet uttered those words, he was cut off by a large crack. A well-fed Georg Friedrich Händel crashed through the dining hall floor, falling just short of Fouquet and knocking him off his feet. Hooke's contraption flew across the room.

The men all froze for a moment, every eye in the room rapidly darting between their opponent and the object that could change their future. Fouquet was the first to move: lunging forward, he scrambled along the floor towards the ball.  
"You lose again, Louis! I will always be better than..."  
The deceitful minister stopped mid-sentence as he realised that Hooke's orb was now firmly gripped in Händel's meaty hand.  
"Was ist das hier?" He grunted, eying the glittering device with suspicion. "It is having so many dekoration. Total unpraktisch! Why are you wanting such a stupid thing, little French men?"  
Fouquet and Louis stared at each other, their faces pale with fear. One turn of that machine could change the world, and despite their contempt for one another, either reality they could create would be infinitely superior to one conceived by a German.

Louis could see behind Fouquet's eyes: his brain was firing away working to figure out how to separate the obese German from his new object of curiosity. But Louis's mind worked faster, remembering a classic German trait had learned from watching Palatine.  
"Look at the size of that EIS!" Louis exclaimed, pointing wildly with a shocked expression on his face.  
Händel's gut swung as he spun in the direction opposite Louis. By the time Fouquet had realised the cunning of Louis's action, Hooke's snuff box had disappeared along with the king and his companions.  
"Scheiße!/Merde!" Händel and Fouquet simultaneously barked in their respective languages.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Racing down the hall practically tripping over themselves in their exceptionally high heels, Louis, Philippe, and Inge exchanged concerned, breathless shouts regarding their lead on Fouquet.  
"Is he following us!?"  
"He seems to be well behind us; I don't see him. Quick, let's duck in to this salon!"  
By now most of the guests had scattered in fear, and the salon was empty and reasonably dark, with most candles out. Louis, regaining his breath, peered in to the brass box wondering what on Earth to do with it.  
"Hand it to me, I am grudgingly familiar with Hooke's work." The voice came from Inge, but was much deeper than what Louis had heard before. It was Huygens's voice. Louis just stared, bewildered. The realisation was then confirmed in speech.  
"Oh, em, sorry your Majesty. Inge is my flamboyant alter-ego."  
After having been enraged so many times in the past day, Louis had little rage left to show. He simply stated his question bluntly: "But if Inge isn't your twin, then *what* have you been doing with Fouquet!?"  
Huygens sighed. "Please understand, your Majesty. Hooke has long been my greatest enemy, like Fouquet is yours. He has stolen my discoveries and claimed them for his own. Recently, I heard rumours that he was working on something dark, far beyond anything I would dare attempt with my own scientific knowledge, so I went undercover as Inge to investigate. I was led to Fouquet, and by that time I was in too deep to back out. But when I realised what Hooke and Fouquet were doing, I was glad I couldn't. You see, your majesty, it was Inge who discovered these secrets. It was Inge who worked to protect France and your Majesty."  
"Don't you see?" Philippe interrupted, "It was Inge's warning which led me to save you from that horrible Montytits! It was Inge who led Fouquet in to this trap! And now…" Philippe's voice turned tender, " Now, it's Inge who will save France!" Philippe stared longingly at his sempai.

Rolling his eyes, Louis couldn't help cracking a little smile. While his patience for his brother's...inclinations ran slim, at least he finally found someone who wasn't a total dicksniffer (or, perhaps he was? If Philippe was into that sort of thing...).  
Shuddering the unpleasant image away, he turned to Huygens and asked, "have you figured it out? What do we need to do to sort out this awful mess?"  
Glancing up from the box, a miserable look was fixed on the young scientist's face.  
"I just can't seem to put the final piece together! Unless I'm horribly mistaken, it seems to be somehow controlled by the emotions and imagination of the user, the latter being why, I presume, things got a bit weird here. You see, it wasn't just what Fouquet wanted; it was anything he happened to be thinking about, even subconsciously, at the time."  
Louis frowned, both at Huygens explanation and the realisation that Fouquet must be even more unstable then previously believed.  
"It sounds like you've figured it out, then. What is the issue, exactly?"  
The Dutchman sighed, and handed the box to the king.  
"I can't seem to open it. There are no locks or codes, but the seal won't budge. Perhaps you could try, sire? If it is indeed powered by emotion, then no one wants to change the world right now more than you. And besides," he paused, chuckling to himself, "if I opened it, it would become mine, and no one wants to live in the over-active mind of a Dutch scientist."  
The three men laughed for a moment, then fell silent as Louis looked down at the tiny gold object in his hand, running his thumb along the seal.  
"There's something I'd like to do, before I open this box."  
Huygens and Philippe looked at each other, then back to Louis, perplexed.  
"What is it, mon frere?"  
Louis looked away for a moment, then gave the pair the most genuine smile Philippe had ever seen on his brother.  
"I'd...I'd like to thank you. For everything. I've always taken everything in my life for granted, but when everything I had was taken away, you two were still here. In case my subconscious wishes this reality away from my memory, I just wanted to let you know how much it meant to me."  
"PFF, don't expect to have that memory for long…" joked Philippe, nudging Huygens.  
But the mood soon fell serious again, and Louis held the box carefully.  
"Well my friends, bon voyage. I will see you on the other side, God willing."  
Huygens and Philippe bowed to his majesty, and Louis closed his eyes. But they could here footsteps now. Running steps. Getting louder. Coming closer.  
"Clear your mind. Just focus!" ushered Huygens, knowing too well the panic each of them suddenly had on their mind.  
Louis tried to forget Fouquet and think solely of his desires. His mind began to runaway from him. He could see the inside of the box in his mind; springs tensioning, gears twirling, and all the while visions of Versailles, well dressed courtiers, -maybe the odd portrait of himself in his glory days riding a unicorn. All would be restored soon. But above his induced dream state, he could hear shouting. A struggle! What was happening? Was it Fouquet? He could not open his eyes. The dream was becoming more vivid. Oh the sweet smell of- Just then, Louis felt a heavy blow between his shoulder and neck. Darkness immediately enveloped him, and he passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The sweet smell… Oh yes, the sweet smell. The sweet smell of orange blossom entered the nostrils of Louis XIV. His eyes cracked open to a golden light.  
"Bonjour, votre majesté." It was the voice of Alexandre Bontemps, valet du roi.  
Louis head was still in a bit of a fog. "Bontemps, request the attendance of my brother at once."  
"Straight away, votre majesté."  
The events of the previous evening were slowly filling his mind as the fog lifted and his vision came in to focus. What a nightmare, he thought. What a most peculiar dream. Why just think! Fouquet coming back to strike his revenge on me! HA! It would never happen. And certainly not that horrible fat lump playing my role as king… urgh! How did my mind invent such a horrible tale. What did I drink before bed last night!? Surely not some of Montespan's toad shit, I do hope, he added to himself cringing.  
"You called, mon frere?" queried a confused Philippe striding in to the royal bedchamber.  
"Just seeing that you are well, my dear brother!" replied Louis.  
Philippe, particularly amused, retorted, "Since *when* does the king simply call his brother to check on his health? Is everything alright, your majesty?"  
"Wonderful. Just wonderful", Louis smiled.

It was not until later in the day that Louis's concern suddenly heightened. Versailles seemed a bit bigger than it always did. And the silver furniture, didn't Colbert say they couldn't afford most of it? Since when has there been so much?  
Strolling through the gardens in the afternoon, Louis's suspicion grew further. Had the Grand Canal always been lined with orange trees? Surely, the fountains hadn't before sprayed spouts of water the height of 15 men!? And the massive statue of himself on horseback, it looked eerily like the one in his dream, only bigger (though the horse smaller).  
Well, I suppose that could be where my dream got its inspiration…  
Louis stopped. Suppose the dream were- reality!? No, certainly not. Not possible! Louis had an idea.  
Well, I suppose there is one way to find out! "Fetch me Huygens."  
"I'm sorry, your majesty?"  
"Huygens. *My scientist.*"  
"I'm sorry sire, but I don't know who you are referring to."  
Louis was bewildered.  
"CHRISTIAAN HUYGENS. I know you have seen him visit me on a number of occasions!"  
Bontemps simply stared at the king as if he had lost his mind.  
In a panic, Louis turned to his brother. "Philippe, surely you know who I refer to. I *know* you crush on him. Curly auburn locks; have any idea?"  
"No mon frere, but if you find him, send him my way… he sounds like a hottie!" Philippe replied teasingly.  
Was Huygens all a figure of his imagination? Impossible! Surely he had memories of Huygens from outside the dream. Huygens. His dear friend. Where was he? *My God.* Reality was beginning to dawn on Louis. It wasn't a dream.. . Huygens,- Fouquet,- Louis felt a searing pain through his chest solely from his realisation. He stumbled, clenching himself.

- I HAVE TO GO BACK

Bontemps and Philippe exchanged concerned glances as Louis breathed in deeply, then closed his eyes and attempted to open the box. When the seal did not budge, he frowned, and after a few moments he opened his eyes and glared at the object with great detestation.  
"Damn this contemptible thing!"  
Now deeply perplexed, Philippe approached his brother and gingerly asked, "Mon frere, is there something you'd like to explain to me?"  
Sighing, Louis nodded. "Yes, I suppose I probably should. But," he looked over his shoulder at Bontemps, who was still watching his sovereign with a level of unprecedented concern, "not in mixed company. If things don't work out, I only need one person to think I'm mental, and it may as we be my own brother."

Sitting under the shade of one of the many orange trees constructed by Louis' over eager imagination, Philippe was struggling to digest the impossible tale he had just heard from his brother.  
"So, let me see if I understand you correctly. Fouquet, your old minister, got a magic snuff box from Robert Hooke which he used to alter time and space to terrorise you and to eventually take your place as king? But then," he paused, fighting back a smile at the absurdity of it all, "this...Huygens person and I...saved you? And now Versailles is greater than it ever was, but your friend has somehow vanished and you have to go back to this alternate dimension to save him and you want my help?"  
Louis looked out onto the glittering canal, his almond eyes squinting in the sun that now seemed brighter than ever.  
"Yes. I know it seems completely mental. I didn't believe it myself until I realised he was gone. Even though I am the king and you should obey me, you are also my brother and I don't want to put you at risk."  
When Philippe did not respond, Louis turned to face him, and found his brother looking very pensively at the ribbons on his sleeves.  
"Philippe, what are you doing? Did you hear anything I just said?"  
"Oh, I was just wondering what the weather was like in England this time of year." Louis could, in that moment, strangle his brother.  
"And why..." He said slowly, trying to keep an even temper, "would that be a matter of concern to you?"  
Philippe grinned, showing Louis his less-than-perfect teeth, "Because, mon frere, that's where Hooke is! If anyone can open the box, surely he can! Drop Charles a message: we're going to London!"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

London, England

#Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!#

Charles II was a towering monarch, particularly for his day. His stature alluded to the power he wielded over his kingdoms, and the great respect his subjects had for him. Years ago, he had been exiled by the execution of his father to France, where his very young and petit cousin Louis XIV sat newly on the throne. The two had developed a strong bond of kinship, though officially they were now at odds due to the differing religions of their nations. As a result, Louis's visit to England was to be kept quiet.  
"Sire, I would advise you to request Louis XIV to turn back at once. If word were to spread that the king of France were coming to England, it will be assumed you are siding with the Catholics." "England will not stand for another Catholic government, sire", the advisor added with tone.  
Charles slowly set down his ornate cup and saucer, the fragrant tea inside steaming lightly, and lowered his gaudy Union Jack shudder shades.  
"The people of England should know that it is because of the gracious generosity of a *Catholic* king that they are now able to have a *protestant* ruler", Charles chided. "Besides," he added, "a visitor is an excuse for a PARTY!"  
At the mention of the word, Charles's namesake dog jumped up and barked excitedly. The advisor decided to leave defeated, and Charles returned to one of his favourite pastimes, burying his head in Nell Gwynn, causing her to call out "Oh your majesty!"  
It's good to be the king.

Meanwhile, outside Dover, Louis and Philippe were sitting down to dinner at a coaching inn, exhausted from the journey across the Channel. It was, after all, still a very new concept to the two, the sea voyage. The landlord had eyed the two very suspiciously as they entered. He could smell a Frenchman from a mile away. Literally. It wasn't unusual to see a frog-eater in these parts–after all, Dover was a port, but these two were outrageous.  
"Look at 'em Frenchies sittin' there", he grunted to his wife in an unmistakably cockney accent, "I'll tell ya what they are them two, right puftas they are! It's not right. Not right at all I say. Two grown men. Hmph. A wonder what them dirty heretic Jims'll do."  
A server sent by the landlord approached the two. He was a black man with a lazily fitted blue frock coat that had three white stripes running down each sleeve, a signature mark of Adidas.  
"You bruthas is French innit?"  
Louis had studied some of the English language before, but the words he had just head sounded like a meaningless jumble. As he turned, his gold lace jabot glimmered and caught the server's eye.  
"Oh man that is well tight, blood! Proppa mint. You is flexxin innit!"  
Louis again was baffled and stared blankly, not sure if he should be offended. "Excusez moi?"  
"*I like yo threads, bruv.* They is safe", the server spoke slowly.  
It didn't help Louis or Philippe understand in any way.  
"We would like to see a, how you say, menu?" Louis tried to say, though it came across in a heavy French accent.  
"*Brap!* I see you ain't no rudeboi. But we don't got bare posh food here."  
Philippe turned to Louis. "What is he saying?"  
"Erm, I think he says they have food here", Louis replied without much confidence.  
"Hmph, astute language skills, brother." remarked Philippe sarcastically.  
Quickly coming to the conclusion that the gay French couple in front of him didn't understand a word he was saying, the server put on his Johnny Foreigner explanation voice; a voice instantly recognisable to those who have seen Britons in France, and characterised by slow, loud, and simple English to make those damn foreigners understand.  
"WE. HAVE. PIE. OR. FISH. AND. CHIPS."  
Louis nodded and began to translate for Philippe, "So apparently we have the choice between either a tart or fish."  
"Oooo lovely! I could go for something sweet!" squealed Philippe, "I wonder what kind of tart it will be! Maybe pear?"  
"And I suppose I will have the fish" decided Louis.  
He placed the order and the server left them in peace again.

"So mon frere, any plan yet on how to track down Hooke?" questioned Philippe.  
"I am hoping Charles will be able to help us there. If Hooke is such a great scientist, then I would imagine he would be active in a royal society chartered by our cousin. Perhaps a meeting could be arranged."  
This time it was the portly landlord who came to the table and delivered their meals. The food was not at all what they were expecting.  
In front of Louis sat a large piece of fish fried so heavily that it oozed oil running down the plate and on to the table. Beside it were potatoes, also fried, that stunk of malt vinegar. Philippe's face showed even more horror than Louis's though, as his 'petit tart' was in fact a heavy, somewhat burnt puff pastry filled with kidney and onion, topped with a dark gravy that ran with a rubbery thick consistency, and further a slop of practically puréed potato. Simply the use of potato in a meal was shocking enough, but the entirety of the strange English dishes truly overwhelmed the two Frenchmen. But if that weren't enough, the uncouth Englishman dropped two piping hot mugs of a brown drink that consisted of boiling water and leaves.


End file.
